


though an army besiege me

by kitmarlowed



Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: Bible verses, Blood and Violence, M/M, Scars, Unhealthy Relationships, roman numerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 10:22:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitmarlowed/pseuds/kitmarlowed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are cuts all over both of them, crawling up Riario’s arms to his neck while Leo’s cuts are deeper and more varied. Same weapon, though, same cannon writ itself on both of them. </p><p>The outline of the whole key is imprinted in Leo’s flesh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	though an army besiege me

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Если ополчится против меня полк](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5045461) by [Gevion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gevion/pseuds/Gevion)



> tw: violence and tame bloodplay

though an army besiege me, my heart

 

though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though war break out against me

\-          Psalm 27

 

i.

“ _Artista_ ,” Riario says, eyes dancing, smile cruel, “you have something of mine.”

 _I will follow you to the ends of the earth_ , Leo’s mind tells him, and Riario has followed him to Pisa.

Leo smiles back, an acid, hollow thing, says, “Florence be damned, ay?” and Riario bows his head, looks up again with dark hair covering the fire that glints from his eyes in this dark, dark room.

“Florence be damned.”

 

ii.

 

There are cuts all over both of them, crawling up Riario’s arms to his neck while Leo’s cuts are deeper and more varied. Same weapon, though, same cannon writ itself on both of them. The outline of the whole key is imprinted in Leo’s flesh and Riario eyes it.

“It’s hidden,” says Leo, clicks his tongue, “somewhere you’ll never find it.” and Riario hums an agreement, or just voices a pause.

“One day,” he says, quietly, the scratchiness of his voice giving way to some strange clarity Leo’s never heard from him before, “One day, Da Vinci, when men have once more found the Book, and haven’t the faintest idea what to do with it - I guarantee, I promise you, we’ll both of us be there. Keep your stolen key if it pleases you, _artista_ , I will be the baying hound at your heels.” 

Leo grins. “Do you swear?”

“I swear.”

 

iii.

 

Florence lies in further turmoil than Leo’s ever seen, Lorenzo loses passion for the arts, Verrocchio fears for his livelihood, Leonardo fears for his life. He has not seen Lucrezia in weeks and he worries himself sicker than all the cuts and festering shrapnel they pull out of his flesh when it works its way close enough to the surface to be seen. He aches to know the reasons, reason out the whys and wherefores - her father, refusing his aid at the Vatican - he wants to understand. But the keys hang heavy around his neck (without Riario to make him hide them) and the Turk’s words of the certainty of the Basilisk will not let him sleep.

 you must

the voice keeps saying, it insists, it nags, it burns and Leo screams until Nico wakes him, pulls him up from his bed and slaps the pipe from his hand.

“Maestro,” he says, “stop this. We’ll find a way to the Vault of Heaven,” he busies himself with wiping Leo’s brow and Zo, out of focus in the doorway, shakes his head, eyes down, brow heavy.

“Leave him to his misery, Nico,” Zo says, “he’s passed all help of ours now,” but he draws into the room, passes the scrawls on screwed up paper, discarded war machines and imagined scenes for paintings, studies of birds he just remembers, one or two dark jagged pencil sketches of Riario, says, to Leo and for Leo alone, “Snap out of this, or I’m gone.”

Leonardo wakes up.

 

iv.

 

he can’t for the life of him tell you that he knows what he’s doing when he walks out into Florence’s streets and steals a horse to ride out of the city. It’s a two day ride to Rome and Leo leaves a note for Nico and Verrocchio, and Zo though he doesn’t name him.

 _friends,_ he wrote _, dear friends I am to Rome! worry not for I tell you with utmost certainty that Lorenzo has not found nor killed me, by any luck I am a quarter ways there by the time you read this. I will be safe, friends, gone to seek the knowledge of another._

_I have snapped out of myself, I am awake again._

 

v.

 

He gives a guard a piece of parchment, tells him to give it to the Count and Captain General, after that it happens smoothly: he waits.

“What a choice you gave,” says Riario, tone made to mock, as he takes the seat opposite Leo, “I trust you don’t mean to kill me?” 

Leo doesn’t look up from the page he has taken to scrawling upon, “Wouldn’t be any fun if I did,” he says and Riario laughs.

“A game without rules, _Artista_?” he spreads his arms and gestures, Leo looks and sees a real smile find his features, “well then, make your first move.”

“Where did you get your half of the key?”

Riario’s eyes flutter closed and he leans back against the chair, smile still wide and inviting, he opens his eyes with a snap, “I was under the impression that I no longer had a half of any key, indeed I’d thought myself redundant to your quest until today.” He fixes Leo with a stare and stands, breaching the short distance and leaning down, “I refuse your move, _Artista_ , on grounds that it is unnecessary. Tell me, instead, why did you come back here, at risk to your life and freedom?”

Leo reaches up and links his arms around Riario’s shoulders, then lets go and starts pulling the heavy jacket down, “that’s not how the game works,” he murmurs, concentrating, “you can’t just push my chess piece back to where it was.”

The answering smile is a wicked, jagged thing and Riario’s hands are suddenly everywhere, his smile against his neck, “we are not playing chess, Leonardo,” he says.

“Are we not, Girolamo?” Leo answers and it’s the last thing he says before Riario’s mouth descends upon his own.

 

vi.

 

Riario presses bruises into Leo’s thighs that ache of promise and burn like fire, “you’ve,” he makes to say and Riario smiles, asks, “I’ve what, _artista_?”  and Leo moans, “say it again.”

 

vii.

 

Leo runs a finger along the raised white skin that curves from just shy of the man's eye to the hollow of his cheek, "you wear it well," he says.

"I won it well, scar for scar, all's fair." Riario touches his own fingertips to the tiny lines and stars on Leo's skin and replaces the fingertips with kisses, "all's fair," he says again.

"You deserve far worse than anything you got," Leo finds the knife in a pile of clothes and presses the tip to open throat, "give me a reason."

Riario smiles, leans forward just slightly enough for blood to trickle a line down his chest, "is that what you asked of Lucrezia?" he says it on a laugh, tone light, eyes intrigued.

Leo drops the knife and grabs Riario's neck, smearing blood all over the sheets and his hands, he bites the cut and sucks, a blood bruise he knows will be hard to explain, says, when he lets go, "you leave her out of this." Bites down hard again and Riario can do little but nod and moan.

 

viii.

 

"This changes nothing," he says come morning, the sun making Riario's eyes gleam with yellow light. 

"Of course not." Riario looks distastefully at the bloodied black shirt he had worn before and glares at Leo. "Why should our little game change because of something so very insignificant?"

The words bite just like they're meant to but Leo refuses to rise to the occasion, will not give the man the satisfaction of knowing that this isn't insignificant, of knowing that Leo knows it. "You never answered my question."

Riario wraps the jacket around his shoulders and stands, smiling still with that sad look fixed back in his eyes, "I know," he says, "and I told you why. Perhaps you'll ride to Rome again, _artista_ , ask me your question then."

Leo grabs his arm as he passes and gives a sharp tug, doesn't smile as Riario turns on his heel to save himself a fall.

"I want the answer now," Leo says, running his fingers over the pulse that throbs beneath the soft skin of Riario's wrist.

"You shan't get it," says Riario who returns the touch with his free hand at Leo's neck, stroking the path of marks from his teeth that rest there.

 

ix.

 

Leo rides for Florence the instant after he pays the innkeep for the room and spoilt sheets. He begs mercy for the wound in his shoulder, blames the blood on that but the man's eyes are keen, he does not believe the lie but lets Leo on his way freely.

The two day ride back aches more than the first instance, wincing and hurting. He abandons the horse by the walls and draws his hood over. If Lorenzo found him now there'd be ample reason, he thinks, oh god protect him. He hopes Girolamo's God watches out for the both of them if he's real, he does not mean to get caught today.

 

x.

  


"Maestro!" Nico says, bounding toward him and stealing a quick hug. “How are you?” 

Leo smiles, ruffles Nico’s hair, says, “much better than I was and ready to get back to this quest, the Book of Leaves won’t find itself.” By the smile he gets in return, so open and golden, he accepts that he’s said the right thing. “Where’s Zo?”

“Tavern,” says Nico with a shrug to the shoulders that says I guess and Leo nods, says, “and news of Lorenzo and Lucrezia?”

“None of Lucrezia, maestro,” Nico says, “and Lorenzo still has men prowling the streets and inns for you, Verrocchio almost had the fright of his life when a dozen watchmen were staring at the wall of the studio.”

“Lucky they weren’t agents of the papacy, ay?” Leo nudges Nico just underneath the ribs and Nico scowls, says sullenly, “I showed that bastard Riario where the lever was.”

Leo doesn’t say anything, and thinks perhaps he should before the question comes and it’s lie or truth and he doesn’t know which one would go down best.

Nico breaks his scowl and grins up at Leo, says, pulling a stool round for him, “so who did you go to see?” and Leo sighs.

Opts for truth.

 

xi.

 

Zo scowls at him, and Leo is glad that he has not heard the whole truth, only the conversation of games and not the insignificant event.

“You’re a fool Leo,” Zo says, “and god’s trousers but that isn’t going to change is it?”

Leo has the grace to look down, says, “Too late to change now. Are you still with me?”

Zo rests a hand on his shoulder and Leo blesses the jacket that hides the marks on his skin. “Like I said, I have debts in Florence,” says Zo.

“Good,” says Leo, hand over Zo’s, “to Pisa then, I’m sure there is more than one ship to Cape Verde-”

“Surely, Leo, but how can we be sure that from this place we can get to your Book?”

Leo smiles, to himself mostly, and looks Zo in the eye, says, “I intend to have someone with us who may be able to help.”

 

xii.

 

They stay safe in Florence for a week and Leo wanders the ruins waiting for the Turk, finds him on a Friday, looking weary.

“You abandoned the Basilisk,” he says, as if to a child who has disappointed him, Leo smarts at that, says, “I saved the Medici family-”

“You saved Lorenzo, who now seeks your death. The brother is dead, the wife and children terrified but alive, not thanks to you, and yet you remain here.” The Turk brings his hand through a flame, back and forth, to and fro. “Why did you abandon us, Leonardo?”

Leo frowns, says, “Because all you did was speak to me in riddles, talk of faith and demons and I’m not even sure that you aren’t one. I’m here now, though, and I want to know what you know, and how the first key was found.”

“The darkness that took the first key no longer possesses it, how he came by it I do not know-”

Leo laughs, says, “I asked him and he wouldn’t answer,” and the Turk’s eyes narrow to slits, “you spoke with him, the Count Riario?”

“Yes,” says Leo, “what of it?”

“He seeks to suppress knowledge.”

Leo smiles, stands and turns at the doorway, says, “Oh,” laughs, “I don’t know.”

 

xiii.

 

“I’m to Rome again,” Leo says, voice low, face hidden in the tavern.

Vanessa looks up from her work, belly rounded, swollen, says, “Maestro?” as Nico and Zo focus into Leo’s words.

“To get our aid?” Nico says, and Leo nods, “Yes.”

He rides to Rome that evening, arrives three days later.

 

xiv.

 

“You call again, come to my city,” Riario says, tone shy of mocking and more an affectation of affront, “and mean to steal me away to some island and from there a journey that might kill us both."

Leo smiles, gives a nod and pulls Riario down to the bed, says, “Yes. That is exactly what I mean.”

Riario bites the soft skin of Leo’s neck, purrs, “and what makes you think I won’t kill you and your friends and find the Vault of Heaven by myself, keys and map and ‘astrolabe’ in hand?”

“I should not have told you of that,” Leo murmurs, shirt off and making quick work of his breeches, Riario laughs, says, “no, perhaps you shouldn’t have.”

There is no talking for hours after that.

 

xv.

 

With Riario pinned down between his thighs Leo laughs, says, “What is your answer, Count?”

The man struggles faintly, laughs also, brings one hand free from Leo’s grip at either side of his head and rests it on Leo’s shoulder, the juncture of collarbone and neck, says, “I believe I told you once, _artista_ , that I’d have you as well.”

“Ah,” says Leo, “but do I have you?”

“You’ve _had_ me,” Riario laughs at him, “and you have me still. I give no promises as to where my loyalties lie when the Book is in our hands, however, but you know that.”

Leo grabs the hand that strokes his shoulder and brings it down hard to the bed again, Riario at his mercy does not look so, his eyes speak of disobedience and games, “you try anything,” Leo says, “and I’ll kill you.”

Riario smiles and writhes beneath him, breathes, “I have no doubts.”

 

xvi.

 

This time both of them ride back to Florence, taking roads through places they shouldn’t but they know they will not be recognised - no will of heaven or earth or Da Vinci can get Riario out of wearing black and Leo envies the sun shield across his eyes.

“Where did you get those,” he asks and Riario smiles, takes them off and hands them to him, squinting in the morning sun, says, “I designed them and someone made them for me. I have others.”

“Not with you though,” Leo says.

“No,” says Riario, “perhaps we’ll share until you find some glass to play with.”

“I don’t think,” says Leo, “you and I will ever be good at sharing.”

Riario laughs, tugs the glasses from Leo’s hands and puts them back on, “No,” he says, “I don’t suppose we will.”

 

xvii.

 

“I haven’t told them,” Leo says, apropos of nothing on the quiet road through a village just shy of Florence.  

“Haven’t told them what, _artista_?” Riario’s voice is scratchy from disuse and slow, he’s tired but he keeps his back straight on the stolen horse.

“About you, who to expect, perhaps I should have done.” Leo slows his horse to a stop and Riario follows suit, says, “second thoughts, _artista_?”

“No,” Leo says, “but they won’t like it. Nico will-” and Riario holds out a hand close to Leo, touches his arm like he did a lifetime ago at an innocent party in Florence, says, “Nico will hate you for it, he’ll see death and pain whenever he sees me and he will look for  any reason to hurt me but he knows that you need me alive - you have told him that.”

“You’ll happily risk it?”

“Of course,” says Riario, kicking his horse back into movement, “it may come as some surprise, da Vinci, but I was aware when I made this deal,” he reaches for the half of the key at his neck, “I know the risks as well as you do.”

 

xviii.

 

There’s blood all over Riario and he’s muttering swearwords in the corner of the room.

“He needed information, you needed information,” Leo says, “surely that makes you even now!” He grabs Zo by the arm and throws his own in front of Nico.

“This is stupid,” says Zo, and Riario laughs from the corner, tearing his shirt to bind the gash upon his side that bleeds a lot but superficially, says, “yes, you almost had me dead, _artista_.”

Leo laughs, says, “you knew the risks.”

 

xix.

 

Nico and Zo remain staunchly by Leo’s side in shadow while Riario forms the outward face of their endeavour. He freely wanders through Florence’s streets and touches no one, threatens nothing, talks only to peddlers and sailors.

I am looking for a ship, he says, bound for Cape Verde, have you heard of such a ship?

Night after night he relays the answers: No.

Night after night Nico and Zo click their tongues and leave Leo’s rooms, muttering of trust and foolishness.

Night after night Leo bids Riario to stay and plan with him.

He shows Riario the map, the keys together and the astrolabe to navigate the seas. Riario smiles at each and lifts them reverently, touch light as it is only sometimes on Leo. “These are god-touched,” he says quietly, as he and Leo lie in bed tangled in the sheets.

Leo smiles against his skin, says, “so are you, Girolamo, the new crusader.” He pulls Riario to face him and frowns, “you will not destroy this will you?”

Riario doesn’t smile, his face serious, eyes strong, says, “I am a soldier of God, Leonardo, first and foremost - I believe this is His will.”

“And his Holiness?” Leo says.

“His Holiness is not God, neither is Lupo, by my estimation. They do not rule me, though the will of the Church should be God’s will.” Riario closes his eyes and pulls away, rests as if without energy in perfect stillness.

“Are you alright?” Leo says.

He receives a small thing in return, Riario’s voice clear but shaking, “faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”

He leans over Riario, says, “I have faith that we will find the Book and that it is meant for us to find, what I don’t have faith in is your God.”

Riario’s eyes snap open, “the tempted and the proud were His angels,” he says, “perhaps you are mine.”

Leo laughs, rest his head on Riario’s chest, says, “Never been called an angel before.”

“You are the god-touched,” Riario says, peppering Leo’s hair with kisses, “and I the sinner.”

 

xx.

 

They keep looking for a ship.

  
  


 

_Therefore we conclude that a man is justified by faith without the deeds of the law._

\- Romans 3, 28

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen - hebrews 11, 1
> 
> ('the proud and tempted are his angels' is from Lessons on Loving a Prophet - Jeanann Verlee)


End file.
